


we'll get wild, wild, wild

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [5]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Jonas keeps looking between the four of them before he stares over Nicole’s shoulder right at Mercedes. “This ain’t over.”Doc puts up a hand. “On the contrary, friend. We should settle this matter like men.”Jonas scowls. “What did you have in mind.”“A race, of course.”





	we'll get wild, wild, wild

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment in the 80's Wayhaught HS AU 'verse.
> 
> This time, we have some good old fashioned Wynhaught BROTP, a dash of Mercedes, some bets, and some fun.
> 
> This oneshot takes place in the late winter/early spring of Nicole's junior year. She's 17 and Waverly is 16.

**“Cum On Feel the Noize” Quiet Riot, 1983**  
“ _Well, you think we have a lazy time. You should know better. I don’t know why.  I don’t know why anymore.  Oh no. Cum on feel the noize.  Girls rock your boys. We’ll get wild, wild, wild.  Wild, wild, wild, baby!”_

“How do I let you get me into these things?” Nicole grumbles, shoving Wynonna in the shoulder.

Wynonna lifts a leg and uses the toe of her Altama army surplus boots to kick open the double doors and barely catches one of them before it slams against the brick building. Nicole pauses, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, but no one comes rushing into the hallway after them.

“You love me,” Wynonna teases. She closes the doors, letting them latch softly. She pauses on the steps and scans the parking lot. “And, like, what’re you going to do if you don’t come with me? Sit through _Lucado_ lecture you about fire hydrant angles?”

Nicole shakes her head slowly. “How have you made it this far in life?”

Wynonna smirks at Nicole over her shoulder as she weaves through Honda Accords, Saabs, and Ford trucks of every color. “My good looks?”

“Ah, right,” Nicole mutters. She tags after Wynonna, pausing to stop at the matte black 1986 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS Convertible that she knows belongs to Xavier Dolls. She hears Wynonna sigh and then there’s a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Nicole,” she starts.

“It’s just a _waste_ ,” she moans. “It’s such a righteous car and _Dolls_ owns it.”

“I know,” Wynonna says, barely any sympathy in her voice.

Nicole glares at Wynonna. “Can you at least pretend like you’re upset about this?”

Wynonna shrugs. “If it was a 1959 black, red, and white Triumph Bonneville with full fenders, I might be crying over it like you are.”

Nicole elbows Wynonna and her hand slips off Nicole’s shoulder.

“Speaking of hot rods,” Wynonna says, a smile growing on her face as she hears an engine revving. She takes off down a lane of cars and Nicole follows her, breaking into a clearing in the parking lot.

“We skipped class for _this_?”

Wynonna ignores her and slides up next Doc, his motorcycle engine humming loudly. “Hi, baby,” she coos.

Doc grins at Wynonna, tipping his hat out of his eyes. “Hey yourself, darlin’.”

Wynonna looks up and frowns. “Oh. I was talking to Vincent.” She goes back to running her hand across the seat of the 1951 Vincent Black Lightning motorcycle.

Doc looks past Wynonna to Nicole, but Nicole shrugs and pushes her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, toeing at the gravel.

“Did you even come into school today?” Wynonna asks, tapping her fingertips against the throttle. She looks up at Doc. “I’m talking to you.”

Doc snorts. “Well, pardon me. I wasn’t sure if you were still having a conversation with my motorcycle.”

“That’s a no, then.”

“I came to see you,” Doc offers.

Nicole leans back against the 1985 Dodge Ram W150 she’s standing next to and watches Doc grab for Wynonna’s waist, pulling her in and tipping his hat down over their faces as he kisses Wynonna. Nicole sighs and wonders what class Waverly is in. If she was here, at least, Nicole wouldn’t be the third wheel.

“They’re so grody,” someone says in her ear.

Nicole startles and pushes off the truck, relaxing when she realizes it’s just Mercedes Gardner.

“I mean,” Mercedes continues, pulling a cigarette out of her jacket pocket. She slides a lighter out of her jeans and hands it to Nicole. “They’re _always_ doing it. Like, my eyes are bleeding.” She puts the end of the cigarette in her mouth and looks at Nicole expectantly.

“Right,” Nicole says dumbly, her thumb slipping on the wheel of the lighter twice before it catches. She holds it to the end of Mercedes’s cigarette until it starts to smoke.

Mercedes plucks the lighter out from Nicole’s fingers and tucks it back into the pocket of her leather jacket. “Sorry. Did you want one?”

Nicole coughs slightly as Mercedes blows a ring of smoke into her face. “No, thanks.”

Mercedes shrugs and leans back against the truck, her shoulders pressed hard against it and her hips angled forward. Nicole lets herself look for a moment, wondering how someone can look like _that_. She starts at Mercedes’s feet, her black heeled boots that disappear into shiny black leggings. She’s wearing a white crop top under her jacket, even though it’s May and the temperature during the daytime spikes. She’s wearing a black headband, her red hair teased out around it. Nicole’s eyes linger on the shoulder pads of Mercedes’s jacket, eying the patches she’s sewn in.

“See something you like?”

“Y-your patches,” Nicole sputters. “I like Guns N’ Roses, too.”

Mercedes winks at her. “I bet you do, Loverboy.”

Nicole frowns. For a moment, she thinks of _Grease_ and how Mercedes reminds her of Sandy at the end of the movie. Waverly had made her watch it, cooing over John Travolta and sighing dreamily during the dancing scenes.

After that, Nicole had saved three months of allowance and asked for her birthday money early, then bought herself a leather jacket at Sears in the city.

Mercedes elbows Nicole and then kicks a loose rock in Wynonna’s direction. “Hey, bitch.”

Wynonna pushes down the brim of Doc’s hat. Doc scrambles to catch it before it hits the dirt and he narrows his eyes at Wynonna. “Mercedes,” Wynonna scowls.

Mercedes glares back for a moment before grinning. “Don’t you have class?”

“Don’t you have decency? Wynonna fires back. “Those leggings are practically see-through and I’m pretty sure-”

“Okay,” Nicole interrupts. She steps in between them. She’s had to suffer through hours of them going back and forth, and she’s not feeling up to it today. She’s about to open her mouth when the loud _bang_ of an exhaust pipe cuts her off.

Doc turns off his motorcycle and puts the kickstand down, stepping in front of Wynonna as Nicole shoulders Mercedes behind her. Doc adjusts his leather jacket, the one that has a devil sewn into the back. A maroon 1972 Ford Pinto 10 with a racing stripe on the side kicks gravel in their direction and Nicole flinches, feeling a loose rock hit her in the knee.

The Pinto spins in a wide circle, spewing gravel and barely missing the front fender of a truck parked on the end of the row. The back end of the Pinto fishtails as it straightens and races towards them. Doc jumps back just as it roars past them, swerving.

“God _dammit_ ,” Doc growls, using his hat to clear the dust in front of him. “Those half-witted hooligans think-”

“They’re coming back,” Nicole interrupts. She puts herself in front of Mercedes fully, flattening her back against the truck behind them as the Pinto blows by them again, too close to be an accident.

Mercedes pushes past her angrily. She scoops a rock off the ground and tosses it at the back end of the Pinto, missing. “Jonas, you coward!” she shouts.

The Pinto’s engine revs as it gets thrown into neutral, then into reverse. It swerves back towards them and Nicole has to shove Mercedes between the truck and a small ‘69 Saab 99 to avoid being hit. The brakes screech as the Pinto comes to a quick stop.

The driver’s door kicks open and Jonas Adamson climbs out of the seat, his eyes nearly black with anger. “What did you call me?” he snarls.

Nicole straightens up, her hands curling into fists at her side. Jonas is small, smaller than the two guys who climb out of the Pinto after him, but Nicole is still sure she can’t really fight him if she had to.

She’s a lover, not a fighter.

Mercedes grabs at Nicole’s shoulder and tries to move her out of the way. “I said you’re a _coward_.”

Nicole glares back at Mercedes. “Would you just can it?”

Jonas chuckles darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, Mercedes. Why don’t you just _can it_.”

“I do believe you’re trespassing,” Doc says calmly.

Jonas and his two friends turn. “Did you say something to me?”

Doc puts his hat on slowly, adjusting it. Wynonna leans back against the Black Lightning, picking at her fingernails disinterestedly. Nicole lets Mercedes get around her now, but stops her when she tries to get too close to Jonas.

“I said,” Doc repeats, slower than the first time. “That I do believe you are trespassing. You’re a long way from the Revenant territory, friend.”

“I ain’t your friend,” Jonas spits. He adjusts the collar on his leather jacket.

Doc smirks. “No, you’re not. But you are not welcome here, either. This is Blue Devils’ ground. So why don’t you take your Matchbox car and run on home, now.”

Jonas scowls and turns back towards Nicole and Mercedes. Doc takes a few quick steps forward.

“Hey, ‘Cedes,” he says, his mouth twisted in a smirk that makes Nicole’s stomach roll.

“Get bent,” Mercedes fires back.

“Oh, I think you’re the one who got bent,” Jonas says. “A couple times, if I remember correctly.” He reaches back for a high five from one of his friends.

When he turns, Nicole gets a better look at his jacket. The Revenants logo is there, in black and white and red: a skull in a cowboy hat and a bandana around its face. Nicole rolls her eyes.

“In your dreams,” Mercedes mutters.

Jonas’s smile slips off his face. “You know what, you-”

Doc clears his throat loudly. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time you left.”

Jonas spreads his arms wide. “And who's going to make me?”

Doc narrows his eyes and takes his hat off, passing it back to Wynonna. Nicole meets his eyes and locks her jaw, peeling her jacket off. She tosses it blindly to the side, hearing Mercedes catch it. She untucks her shirt, rolling her shoulders back to loosen them up.

“Oh, you two, huh?” Jonas asks, looking back and forth between Nicole and Doc. He runs his hand through his greased-back hair. “Malcolm, save the girl the trouble, would you?”

Nicole steps back as Malcolm moves towards her. She knows all about him - Malcolm Ramaker, lost his eye on a hunting trip when he was kid, the same year Nathan wanted to get a Johnny River Red Rifle from the consignment store on Main. He once robbed his own grandmother, Nicole heard. She feels Mercedes’s hand at her back and steps forward instead, squaring up to him.

Red moves towards Doc, sliding his bandana around his neck until the knot is at his throat. He bares his razor-sharp teeth.

“This is going to be fun,” he snarls.

“There a problem?” someone behind Nicole asks.

She turns and sighs gratefully. Ambrose Fish steps out from the back end of a 1982 Chevy Silverado, a blue bandana tied around his arm. Levi Ortiz is right behind him in his own Blue Devils jacket, eyes narrowed.

Jonas takes a small step back, eyes darting from Doc to Fish to Levi to Nicole. He knows he’s outnumbered here, out of territory, and out of time.

“As I was saying,” Doc says, his voice still calm. “I believe it's time you bid farewell.”

Jonas keeps looking between the four of them before he stares over Nicole’s shoulder right at Mercedes. “This ain’t over.”

Doc puts up a hand. “On the contrary, friend. We should settle this matter like men.”

Jonas scowls. “What did you have in mind.”

“A race, of course.”

Wynonna snorts, pushing Doc’s hat on her head out of her eyes. Nicole relaxes a little, letting herself smile. Doc could race that Road Runner in the cartoons, he’s that quick on the pedal.

“A race,” Jonas repeats. “My Pinto against your shitty Camaro?”

Doc’s eyes flash. “ _Charlene_ ,” he says through gritted teeth. “Is a _firecracker_.”

Jonas narrows his eyes but nods. “Fine. At the Triangle?”

Doc pauses, like he’s thinking about it. Nicole knows he’ll say yes; the Triangle is the only place in town that Revenants and Blue Devils will be at the same time. It helps that there’s a straight quarter-mile stretch they can use as a racetrack.

“The Triangle. Day after next.”

Jonas rolls his eyes. “You can just say ‘Saturday,’ Holliday.” He shakes his head. “Malcolm. Red,” Jonas snaps his fingers at the two boys. “Let’s go.”

Malcolm and Red get into the Pinto. Red looks Nicole up and down a few times, and she resists the urge to squirm under his gaze. Jonas gets in last, slamming the door and leaning out of the open window. He leers at Nicole. “I like a girl that’s ready to roll.”

Nicole crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him as he starts the Pinto, spewing gravel behind him as he revs the engine. He peels out of the parking lot, tires squealing when they hit the paved road.

Wynonna, still wearing Doc’s hat, crosses over to them and hip checks Mercedes hard enough that she falls into Nicole. “What did you ever see in that poser?”

“Nothing with his clothes on,” Mercedes grumbles. She straightens her shoulder, smirking at Nicole as she hands her back her jacket. “You joining the Blue Devils, Loverboy?”

Nicole flushes, pulls on her jacket, and runs her hand through her hair. “Uh, no.”

“That was real ‘Rambo’ of you,” Wynonna adds. “Taking off your jacket like you were going to fight _Malcolm Ramaker_.” She snorts. “What would Waverly say?”

Nicole’s stomach flips. “W-what do you mean?”

“Fighting, Nicole. _On school property_ ,” Wynonna says, throwing her hair back and sucking in her cheeks, trying to impersonate Waverly. “ _Are you, like, juicing now_?”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Waverly doesn’t sound like that.”

Wynonna opens her mouth to argue, but shouts when Doc’s hat is plucked off her head. “Hey!” she protests.

Doc settles his hat on the top of his head, ignoring Wynonna. “Well, ladies. If you would excuse me, I have a car to spitshine.”

Wynonna sighs. “It’s, like, so gross that you mean that.”

Doc grins crookedly at her and tips his hat in Nicole’s direction. Nicole waves off his unspoken thanks.

Mercedes pulls a set of keys out of her pocket and dangles them in the air. “Come on, bitch,” she says to Wynonna. “You too, Loverboy. We’re going shopping.”

“You’re not going back to class?” Nicole asks.

Mercedes snorts. “It’s not like that cute behind of yours is in a classroom right now, either.”

Nicole looks back at the building, wondering if she should sneak back in or if she should wait around so she can walk Waverly to The Patch when the bell rings, but Wynonna throws an arm around Nicole’s shoulders and pulls her into a headlock.

“Fine, fine,” Nicole grunts as Wynonna digs her knuckles into the top of Nicole’s head.

Wynonna lets her go and she nearly falls to the ground. By the time she rights herself, Wynonna is gripping Doc by the front of his jacket, kissing him solidly on the mouth.

Mercedes groans and grabs Nicole by the arm, pulling her through the lot towards her 1982 Chrysler Imperial. “If you hold my bags, I’ll buy you a soft pretzel,” Mercedes promises.

Nicole grumbles and wonders again why she keeps following Wynonna Earp right into trouble.

 

-

“Fighting, Nicole?” Waverly asks, her eyes wide. “On school property?”

Wynonna nearly spits out her glass of Kick. She swallows it, but Nicole can see her eyes instantly water as the carbonation is forced through her nose.

Waverly turns to glare at Wynonna. “Oh, you think it’s funny?”

“No, I, like, honest-” Wynonna cuts herself off when Waverly takes a menacing step towards her, and shakes her head instead. “No, Waverly.”

Nicole sighs, puts down her Orange Crush, and takes a step closer to Waverly, her hands out in surrender. “I didn’t start it,” she tries.

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest and Nicole pulls up short.

“I didn’t actually fight anyone?”

Waverly’s eyes narrow. “Are you _asking_ me?”

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “No? No. I’m _telling_ you.”

Wynonna makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. When Nicole looks back at her, Wynonna is doubled over at the counter, her eyes wet and her face red. Nicole punches her in the arm.

“Nicole!”

Nicole turns back to Waverly, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she grumbles. She drops down onto her own stool, spinning lazily back and forth.

Waverly’s shoulders soften and she sighs, the same sound she makes when she’s giving up on trying to make Wynonna behave in public. She twists a strand of her crimped hair over her finger and Nicole watches, mesmerized.

_Over, under, over under, over, under._

She only looks away when the jukebox goes from Billy Squier’s “Shake Down” to “Faith” by George Michael. Waverly glares at her instantly, daring Nicole to say something about her music choice. Nicole decides to keep her thoughts to herself.

Waverly sweeps the floor forcefully, pushing at the legs of the chairs with the broom without bothering to put the chairs up on the table. She moves along the diner floor, eventually making it to where Nicole is sitting. The broom smacks against her shins hard. She winces. The black leather Cove Shoe 1985 paratrooper boots she’s wearing slip on the metal bar of the stool.

Nicole looks up and catches Wynonna rolling her eyes. She can feel the tension building and she _hates_ being in between  the Earps while they’re in the middle of a fight. The broom is headed towards her shins again, but she catches it this time, gripping it tight and pulling. Waverly stumbles into her, Nicole steadying her with a free hand at her waist.

“It was Jonas Adamson,” she offers. Her hand flexes on Waverly’s hip.

Waverly’s eyes flash. “You were going to fight _Jonas Adamnson_?” She slams the heel of her palm into Nicole’s shoulder.

Nicole flinches, but bites down on her bottom lip to stop from crying out. Her eyes water.

“Actually,” Wynonna drawls. Nicole glares at her, trying to get her to shut her mouth. “She was going to fight Malcolm Ramaker.”

Waverly hits her again and moves to twist out of her hold. Nicole pinches the fabric of Waverly’s highwaisted denim shorts, keeping her close. “Waverly-”

Waverly winds her fingers into Nicole’s, trying to loosen the grip Nicole has on her shorts. “Don’t _Waverly_ me, Nicole Haught. You were going to fight _Malcolm Ramaker_ , who once robbed his _own_ grand-”

“Jonas was being a scumbag to Mercedes,” Nicole says over Waverly.

Wynonna hops off her stool. “Oh, I didn’t mention that?” She shrugs. “Jonas started in on Mercedes. Nicole was standing up for her.”

Waverly’s mouth drops open. “No, you didn’t… You _didn’t_ mention that.” She lets go the broom and runs both hands up Nicole’s arms to her shoulders, tripping on her rolled shirtsleeve, sliding her fingertips to Nicole’s neck, turning her head to the left and the right. “Did he hit you?”

Nicole stays perfectly still, trying not to breathe too deeply and dislodge Waverly’s hands from her skin. “No,” she breathes out, her chest feeling too tight to say anything else.

Wynonna groans loudly and stomps past them, her Altama’s heavy on the linoleum. “You two are such sap-o-ramas. I’m going to get some fries.” She lifts a foot and kicks the kitchen door open, slipping around it before it swings shut on her.

Nicole panics. Wynonna is right. They’re so close; _too_ close. She can see the soft rise and fall of Waverly’s chest and the the individual strands of hair caught around the necklace she’s wearing. Her eyes are more green than brown today, bright in the sunlight coming in through the front windows of The Patch. Waverly wets her bottom lip, and Nicole can’t help but follow the slide of her tongue. She tries to pull out of Waverly’s hold, but Waverly’s hands tighten on the back of her neck, so she stays still.

Waverly’s fingertips glide along her jawline, tipping her head back. “If he _touched_ you, I’ll-”

Nicole loosens her grip on the broom, not hearing it hit the floor. Her hand drifts to Waverly’s other hip, thumbing at the soft skin between the top of Waverly’s shorts and the bottom of her Patch shirt. “I’m fine,” she promises.

Waverly’s shoulders sag softly. “You skipped class.”

Nicole rolls her eyes but smiles. “It was just Lucado.” She looks down to where her fingers have wound themselves through Waverly’s beltloops, and her heart pounds in her chest.

“Fine. Don’t come crawling to me asking for help the next time you have a quiz,” Waverly warns. Her fingers skip across Nicole’s jaw to her chin, forcing Nicole’s eyes up.

Nicole smiles shyly. “You’ll still help me, though. Right?” She brushes her thumb against Waverly’s hipbone.

Waverly’s eyes darken for a moment before she rolls them, shaking her head. “You’re-”

The bell above the door chimes and Nicole startles, her fingernails biting into Waverly’s skin.

Waverly hisses and spins out of Nicole’s hold, stumbling for a moment as Nicole’s fingers catch and twist uncomfortably in her shorts. Nicole pulls them free, wincing and shaking them out.

“Welcome to- oh. Hey, Mercedes,” Waverly says, her waitress-voice fading as she recognizes the person at the door.

Mercedes smirks, tossing her leather jacket over her shoulder. “Hey, Little Earp.” She winks at Nicole. “Loverboy.”

Nicole feels her face flush, and she rubs a hand along the back of her neck. She can feel Waverly’s eyes burning into her.

Mercedes’s heels _clack_ on the linoleum floor as she moves across the diner, stopping in front of Nicole. She lifts her free hand, walking her fingers from Nicole’s elbow to just below her shirtsleeve. She picks at the fabric. “Your sleeve is unrolled,” Mercedes points out.

Nicole’s stomach turns and she fumbles with the fabric, smoothing down the cotton before rolling it up, half-inch after half-inch. “T-thanks,” she mumbles.

Mercedes taps a finger against Nicole’s nose. “Anything for my hero.” She turns too quickly for Nicole catch up to her words, looking at Waverly. “Where’s Wynonna?”

“Kitchen,” Waverly says shortly. “She’ll probably be a while.”

Mercedes sighs and drops her jacket, her arm hanging limply at her side. “Well, tell that bitch that we’re going down to the Triangle together. She _better_ not ditch me.”

Waverly nods, her face blank.

Mercedes turns back to Nicole. Nicole feels her face get hot again. “You’re coming, too, right?”

Nicole nods dumbly, avoiding the look she knows Waverly is giving her.

Mercedes smiles widely and winks again. “Then I’ll see you there, Loverboy.” She lets her hips sway back and forth as she struts back towards the door, tossing Nicole another smile as she leaves. The bell over the door rings again.

Nicole stares at the door for a moment before she snaps out of it, giving Waverly a sheepish smile.

Waverly glares back at her, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Triangle? To do _what_? Race?”

Nicole picks at her jeans and shrugs. “I guess?”

“And you and Wynonna are going?”

Nicole sighs. “Waves, I don’t like when you do that thing where you ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Waverly leans back slowly.

“I mean,” Nicole scrambles to say. “Yes. Doc and Jonas are racing. And Wynonna is going. And I’m going with Wynonna.” She snaps her fingers, thinking of something. “Wouldn’t you rather me go so I can keep Wynonna out of trouble? Huh?” she asks hopefully.

Waverly glares at her for another moment before she sighs, her arms dropping. “Fine,” she grumbles. “But you better take care of her. And yourself,” she adds softly.

Nicole smiles brightly and hops off her stool, picking up the broom lying on the floor. When she stands up, Waverly is close, the tops of her Reebok Club C sneakers pressed against the tips of Nicole’s boots. She inhales too quick and coughs when the air gets stuck in her throat.

“Mercedes?” Waverly asks.

“W-what?” Nicole asks, trying to step back. The stool behind her keeps her in place.

Waverly’s eyes are clouded. Nicole can’t figure out what she’s asking. “She called you ‘Loverboy’ and winked at you.” Waverly leans in a little. “Is she… Does she…”

“Oh.” Nicole frowns. “ _Oh_ . No. She’s just… She’s teasing me. She’s not…” Nicole shakes her head. “ _I’m_ not. Into her. I mean.”

_You_ , _though_ , Nicole thinks. She flinches at the thought.

Waverly continues to stare at her. “Stay” by Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs fades into “Yes” by Merry Clayton, and Nicole idly wonders why they’re listening to the Dirty Dancing Original Soundtrack until she remembers that Waverly probably front-loaded the jukebox choices for her shift.

“She’s pretty,” Waverly finally says. “If you’re into…”

Nicole’s lips twitch but she tries not to smile. “Into what?”

“Poofers,” Waverly finishes.

Nicole swallows the laugh threatening to bubble out of her throat. She looks at Waverly’s side ponytail, even more teased out than Mercedes’s chin-length hair, and nods as seriously as she can. “I’m definitely not,” she says, her voice breaking as she tries to keep herself from snorting. She takes a deep breath and nods sharply. “Definitely not.”

Waverly stares at her for a moment longer before nodding to herself and backing up, taking the broom from Nicole’s hand. “You’ll come over? After the race?”

Nicole leans back against the counter, trying to figure out where Waverly’s head is at. She nods silently before she clears her throat. “Yeah. Sure.”

Waverly smiles brightly. “Good. We missed last week’s episode of _Check It Out!_ But Gus taped it on the VCR, so we can watch it.” She glances back at the kitchen and lowers her voice. “Gus had to tape over one of Wynonna’s piano recitals, but don’t tell her.”

Nicole snorts and grabs Wynonna’s empty glass, then her own, tucking them under her arm. She walks backwards towards the kitchen door and stops when she feels it against her heels. She lifts one finger to her lips, sliding it across them like she’s closing a zipper.

Waverly winks at her and spins back towards the jukebox, her hair catching the light.

Nicole nearly stumbles back through the kitchen door.

 

-

Nicole climbs out of the back of Mercedes’ Imperial, stretching her legs and trying to get some feeling back in her toes. She leans back in over the driver’s seat and grabs her leather jacket, pulling it on as she follows Wynonna and Mercedes through the haphazardly parked cars.

The Triangle is crowded. The abandoned buildings on either side of the long stretch of pavement are dark, broken glass windows like sharp teeth lit up by the trashcan fires scattered along the road. It’s still early in the evening but the Triangle gets cold at night, and soon people will be crowded around the open flames, warming their hands. Nicole coughs as they pass through a group of Revenants, red bandanas on their wrists, arms, heads, and necks.

“Want a fatty?” someone asks, shoving a lit joint in her face.

Nicole swats it away.

Broken beer bottles crunch under the heel of her boot as she follows behind Wynonna and Mercedes. Someone throws a spray can over her head. A guy with the red swatch of paint on his jacket catches it, pops the top off it, and depresses the trigger, neon yellow paint blooming out along the side of the building he’s in front of.

Nicole tips her head to the side. “Should we tell him he’s not spelling that right?”

Wynonna looks back and reads it aloud. “Blue Divels blow.” She snorts. “Jesus, these Revs are wastoids.”

Someone cuts them off, forcing them to crowd towards the front fender of a 1986 Buick Regal Grand National. Nicole brushes her fingertips across the hood reverently.

“Shit, Jonas,” someone hisses.

Nicole looks up, immediately stepping in front of Mercedes and Wynonna. They’re on the Revenants’ side of the Triangle, 20 yards away from where she thinks she can spot a sea of blue bandanas.

Jonas stops short, his smile slipping off his face as he sees them. The girl at his side flips her hair out of her face and Nicole feels Mercedes tense behind her.

“Oh. It’s _you_ ,” Mercedes spits.

Beth Gardner smiles tightly, pushing one hand into Jonas’s back pocket as she curls into his side. “What’re _you_ doing here?”

Jonas winks and pulls Beth into a kiss that makes Nicole gag. Mercedes stiffens for a moment before she throws her arm over Nicole’s shoulder, pressing her front to Nicole’s back.

“You two deserve each other,” she says flatly. “You’re a cold fish in the sack, Jonas. And Beth has never been much of a meat eater.” Her hand splays flat against Nicole’s shoulder before she closes it into a fist, pulling Nicole back through the crowd.

Jonas narrows his eyes after them.

Mercedes pulls and pulls, going up the lane instead of across it. Wynonna is laughing loudly, pausing every few steps to mimic the way Beth’s jaw dropped as Mercedes spoke. Nicole rolls her eyes and grabs Wynonna by the back of jacket, hauling her past a 1984 Maserati Biturbo with crooked racing stripes and a dented front fender.

“Hey, Mercedes,” someone coos.

Nicole narrows her eyes as she recognizes Jimmy Byers, a Bandit a few years older than her. He was a senior when Nathan was a freshman, she remembers. _A bully_ , Nathan had told her.

Mercedes scoffs. “As if, Jimmy.”

He scowls. “It’s _Whisky Jim_.”

“And I’m Ma- _fucking_ -donna,” Mercedes fires back. “Grow up, Jimmy.”

They keep moving. Doc likes to park by the end of the strip, close to the finish line spray painted across the pavement. Nicole pauses in front of a sparkling silver 1980 DeLorean DMC-12, it’s doors lifted high into the air. Her hand stretches out to touch it just as Vinnie the Vulture, a Bandit, climbs out of the driver’s seat. She drops her arm quickly and takes a step back. He sneers at her and she puts her hands up, turning on her heel.

“I’m getting a car,” she declares as she sidles up next to Wynonna. “Like, as soon as possible.”

Wynonna snorts. “How?”

“I’m going to buy it,” Nicole says. “I have some lawns lined up this summer. And Sheriff Nedley told me I can do some work at the station.”

Mercedes lifts an eyebrow, surprised. “Loverboy wants to grow up and be a Roller?”

Nicole straightens her shoulders. “What’s it to you?”

Mercedes laughs and loops an arm through Nicole’s, tugging her hard enough that Nicole stumbles a few steps. “Don’t get your t-shirt in a twist.” She slides her fingers up and down Nicole’s sleeve. “Let’s find Marty. He’s taking bets and I’m putting my money on Doc turning Jonas into road pizza.”

They find Marty, a dirty looking Bandit with greasy hair and an even greasier smile. He flips his notebook open and closed nervously but takes Mercedes’s bills and shoves them into a small bag next to him.

Nicole stares at the cars, sighing dreamily over a 1984 Audi Quattro Sport parked next to a ‘85 Ford Mustang SVO, painted Robin’s Egg Blue. Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” pumps hard against the windows of the Mustang and Nicole taps out the beat against her thigh.

Wynonna shoulders her roughly. “Dude, you’re drooling.”

“No, I’m not,” Nicole protests, wiping at her mouth anyway when Wynonna turns back around to scan the crowd for Doc and his car.

“You’re Nathan’s kid sister, right?” the girl sitting on the hood of a black Nissan Skyline R32 GT-R behind her asks.

Nicole looks up and frowns. “What?”

“Nathan Haught. You’re his sister, right?” The girl slides off the hood and looks Nicole up and down. “I’m Hetty.” She purses her lips when Nicole blinks at her. “Hetty Tate?”

“Oh,” Nicole finally says. “Yeah. Okay. Nathan mentioned you once or twice.”

Hetty’s eyes flash with anger, but before she can say anything, Mercedes grabs her by the arm and tugs her across the road to where Fish is leaning against his 1979 Ford F150 Indy Pace Truck, black and orange with original decals and a roll bar in the bed. He grins at them and offers Mercedes a hand, lifting her up a little so she can jump onto the tailgate he has pulled down.

“Got any brew?” Mercedes asks, already opening the cooler behind her. She pulls out two cans of Molson, offering one to Nicole.

Nicole looks at Mercedes’s outstretched hand, but hears Waverly in the back of her mind.

_“You better take care of her,”_ Waverly had said. _“And yourself_.”

Nicole shakes her off and Mercedes hands the can to Fish instead. Nicole jumps when Fish slips a pocketknife out of his jacket, flips it open, and stabs it into the bottom of the can. His eyes on Mercedes, he drains the whole can, crushing it in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder. It lands in the bed of the truck with a _clang_.

“Where’s Doc?” Wynonna asks. She takes Mercedes’s can, sips at it, and hands it back. She glances at Nicole and looks away just as quickly.

An engine revs loudly near them. Wynonna smiles widely, banging her fist down on the tailgate. “There he is.” She slips through the crowd, following the noise.

Nicole plants her hands on the tailgate and lifts herself up, sliding into the bed of the truck. She sits on the toolbox, leaning back against the roll bar. From up here she can see nearly all of the Triangle; all of the cars stretched out from the main road to the end of the lane; all the small pockets of headlights and trash cans; all of the lights of the joints being passed back and forth and the glint of Molson cans in the fading sunlight. The noise is nearly unbearable: all kinds of music, from Ozzy Osbourne and Ratt and Telsa to Genesis and Huey Lewis and Eddie Money.

This isn’t really her scene. It’s Saturday and she’d rather be sitting at The Patch, hogging the corner booth and flipping through the _Rolling Stone_ magazine Waverly subscribes to for her. She’d rather be reading Waverly the cover article on Bon Jovi, even if she doesn’t really think he’s as cute as Waverly claims he is. At this point, she’d rather be sitting in the booth glaring at Champ Hardy, who comes by on Saturday nights to stare at Waverly in her diner shirt.

She’d rather be with Waverly, doing _anything_.

“You with us, Loverboy?” Mercedes asks, her voice cutting through Nicole’s thoughts as she brings a hand down hard on Nicole’s thigh, squeezing.

Nicole slips off the corner of the toolbox. “What?”

Mercedes smirks, her hand still on Nicole’s thigh. “What’re you thinking about inside of that egghead of yours?” She narrows her eyes. “ _Who_ are you thinking about?”

“N-no one,” Nicole mutters. She sits back down on the toolbox and tries to ignore Mercedes’s eyes on her.

Wynonna comes flying back through the crowd, climbing up on a tire of the truck, holding onto the rails of the bed. “He’s definitely going to win,” she says decisively.

Nicole snorts. “How do you know that?”

Wynonna winks at her. “I might have sweetened the pot a little. If you-”

“I get it,” Nicole says loudly. She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to clear the picture forming there.

“What kind of car are you getting?” Wynonna asks, leaning over the side of the bed of Fish’s truck.

Nicole thinks back to the 1979 Pontiac Bonneville she saw last week, sitting on someone’s front lawn with a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front windshield. When she tells Wynonna, she laughs. Then Fish laughs.

“A _Bonneville_ ,” he repeats. “That thing is a boat.”

Wynonna is still laughing. “What color is it?”

When Nicole tells her it’s a really _cool_ green, Wynonna laughs so hard she doubles over.

Nicole goes to shove her when she sees Jonas step onto the road, his eyes dark. Doc meets him in the middle of the lane. The yelling and hollering settles to a soft hush, all eyes on the two of them. Beth is still wound around Jonas, tugging at his shirt in a way that makes Nicole want to throw up. She glances at Mercedes, but she’s too busy batting her eyes at Fish.

“Don’t tell her,” Wynonna mutters in her ear.

Nicole frowns. “Don’t tell her what?”

Wynonna nods her head to the other side of Fish’s truck, where Levi is standing, staring at Fish. His eyes are just as soft as Mercedes’ are.

“ _Oh_ ,” Nicole breathes out.

Wynonna snorts and claps a hand down on her shoulder.

Out on the road, Doc steps in towards Jonas, pulling his hat off. He growls something Nicole can’t hear, but Fish and Levi take a few quick steps, putting themselves just a couple of feet behind Doc. Malcolm and Red are right behind Jonas, their eyes glassy, snarling.

“Tell you what,” Wynonna says cheerfully. “If Doc wins _and_ punches Jonas in the face at the finish line, I get to name your car.”

Nicole snorts. “There’s no way Doc will punch him. He’s too much of a Stella for that.”

Doc steps back, adjusting his hat and nodding sharply at Fish and Levi before stalking down the lane towards them. His car, a 1977 Camaro he named _Charlene_ is already running. One of the younger Blue Devils, a kid Nicole thinks might be in Waverly’s biology class, the one Nicole visits nearly every day before the bell rings so they can walk down lunch together - is buffing the hood, smoothing a cloth along the lines of the car.

“If I’m right, I get to name your car,” Wynonna repeats.

Nicole holds out her hand. “Deal. There’s _no way_ Doc is going to punch Jonas.”

Wynonna shouts in her ear. “He told Doc I was as grody as a Yugo 45 but a good _lube job_ and the right guy could shine me right up.”

Nicole looks up, her eyes flashing darkly. “He said _what_?”

Wynonna rolls her eyes and pats Nicole on the thigh. “Don’t worry. Doc said he’d wait until the finish line to ‘ _kindly rearrange_ ’ Jonas’s face for him.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Nicole breathes out. “Doc is going to punch Jonas in the face.”

“And then I get to name your car.” Wynonna claps her hands excitedly.

Doc revs the engine and slams the car into drive, his back tires squealing on the pavement. Nicole looks up, and she can see the marks he leaves on the blacktop smoking a little as he blows by Fish’s truck, headed for the starting line. Jonas jumps out of the way as Doc goes past, edging a little too close to be polite.

Nicole stands up in the bed of the truck, hauling Wynonna up next to her so they can see.

Doc slides his car up to the line, idling. From here, Nicole can see Jonas get into his Pinto, turn it around, and creep up to the starting line next to Doc.

Beth Gardner peels a red bandana from around her neck and waves it slowly out in front of her. Mercedes climbs into the truck with them, passing Wynonna a new can of Molson. Without looking, Nicole plucks it from Wynonna’s hand and puts it back down.

“Hey, I was going to-”

Nicole looks at Wynonna, her eyes narrowed. Slowly, she crosses her arms over her chest, daring Wynonna to argue with her; to argue with the _Waverly_ in Nicole’s head.

_You better take care of her. And yourself._

People start punching their horns. Someone turns up their music loud enough that Nicole can feel the metal frame under her feet start to pulse.

_“We’ll get wild, wild wild_ ,” Levi sings off-key. Fish starts hammering his fist into the side of the truck. _“Wild, wild, wild_.”

A shout goes through the crowd as Beth lifts her arm slowly into the air, the red bandana limp in her hand. Nicole can feel Mercedes’s fingernails against her arm through her jacket. Wynonna starts stomping the heel of her Altama into the bed. Empty Molson cans rattle against the metal.

Beth’s arm goes down.

The sound of squealing tires pierces through the heavy bass of Quiet Riot. The crowd is screaming now, jumping up and down as Charlene and the Pinto fight to take off. Nicole can see the smoke drifting from the pavement, the smell of burning rubber tickling her nose.

The Pinto swerves wildly, loose gravel and broken glass spewing from under the back tire. Doc handles his Camaro with more control but his car still zigs and zags back and forth, going a hundred feet before it straightens out. It’s a quarter-mile stretch from the start to the finish, and they’re already three hundred feet in, engines roaring.

She pushes up on her toes, putting one hand back to steady herself on the roll bar, her other arm still trapped in Mercedes’s grip, to see over Wynonna jumping up and down in front of her. Jonas is still swerving, the front end of the Pinto swaying back and forth intentionally. He jerks the wheel hard, his front fender nearly lodging itself under Charlene’s front wheel well. The Pinto swings to the edge of the road and cuts back in again. The bumper catches this time, bouncing Doc towards the scattered cars lining the road. Nicole can see him jerk the wheel, pulling the car straight again.

“Son of a-” Wynonna starts, cutting herself off as Jonas swerves again.

They’re over the halfway mark now, and Nicole can finally see Doc more clearly. His arms are locked and his grip tight on the steering wheel. His hat is gone, his hair loose in his face. Fish is banging on the truck, his fist red. Levi is eerily still, eyes locked on the two speeding cars.

Nicole digs her nails into her palm, ignoring the sharp shooting pain it sends up her arm. Jonas is pushing his shoulders into the seat behind him, eyes darting between Doc and the road in front of him. The Pinto swings again. Nicole winds her hand into the back of Wynonna’s jacket, tugging hard when Wynonna goes to jump off the bed of the truck.

Her heart is in her throat when Jonas goes wide towards the side of the road and dips back in, slamming into the back end of Doc’s car. Charlene goes wild, the entire frame bouncing. Doc struggles to right the car but eventually gets her pointed towards the finish line.

Nicole starts bouncing on the tips of her toes. Mercedes tightens her grip on Nicole’s arm. They’re a few hundred feet from the finish, and Doc’s car is shaking. She sees him drop a hand from the wheel, reaching for the clutch, just as Jonas looks over and cranks the wheel to the right.

Doc pops the clutch, hits the gas, and rockets forward. The front of Jonas’ car just misses Doc’s back fender, going too fast towards a cluster of different-colored Plymouth Reliants. Jonas jerks the wheel again and straightens himself out. His exhaust backfires and the car sputters to a stop.

Doc sails across the finish line, slamming on the brakes hard enough that his car skids to a stop, dust and gravel flying up in a cloud around him.

“ _Yes!_ ” Wynonna shouts.

Mercedes screams loudly in her ear.

Doc gets out of Charlene, pats the top of the car gently, and turns on his heel. He tucks his hair behind each ear, one at a time, before he slides his hat over his head. He pulls it down to where he wants it, gives Jonas a tight smile, and hauls an arm back.

Nicole can’t hear the crack of Doc’s fist on Jonas’ jaw, but Jonas drops like Doc’s arm is made of concrete.

The Blue Devils around them go wild, throwing beer cans and gravel into the air. Fish is hugging Levi tightly around the neck and Wynonna is pulling Nicole’s arm up and down painfully as she jumps, screaming incoherently.

Mercedes grabs her by the collar, pulls her in, and kisses her hard on the mouth.

Nicole stumbles back, her lips tingling. “What the-”

“Later, Loverboy!” Mercedes jumps up again and lets Fish put her on the ground, disappearing into the crowd.

“Did she just _kiss_ you?” Wynonna asks, staring after Mercedes.

Nicole touches the tips of her fingers to her lips. “I think so,” she says slowly.

Wynonna snorts. “What a stone cold bitch.” She winks at Nicole. “I bet I know why you want to get a car.”

Nicole shakes her head furiously. “Not for _that_. Mercedes is…”

_Not who I’m into,_ Nicole wants to say. But admitting that will make Wynonna start asking who she _is_ into, and she’s not ready to go there.

“She left, anyway,” Nicole finishes weakly.

“Probably to rub it in Jonas’s face,” Wynonna says. She leans back against the roll bar, crossing her arms over her chest, giving Nicole a smug smile. “Because Doc beat him.”

Nicole grins back. “Yeah, he did. _And,_ I kept you from getting yourself into trouble, so it’s a pretty bomb night.”

“Especially because Doc _beat him_ ,” Wynonna repeats again.

“I know, I heard you. Doc beat-” Nicole scowls. “ _Shit_.”

Wynonna’s smile stretched wide. She grabs the Rolling Stones zipper on Nicole’s jacket and pulls her in until the tops of Nicole’s boots are pressed against the tips of Wynonna’s Altamas. The crowd around them, all Blue Devils cheering Doc’s name, are loud. “ _Shit_ is right, Haught,” Wynonna says, low and in her face. “I get to name your car.”

“I don’t even own a car yet,” Nicole points out.

Wynonna snorts. “We both know if you want it, you’re going to get it.”

Nicole nods slowly. “When I see something I want, I don’t like to wait,” she admits. She thinks about the car, how pretty it looked in the sunlight; how good she would look in the front seat; how great her new Chicago tape will sound coming out of the speakers; how nice Waverly would look in the front seat with her hand out the window, flying it on the wind.

She _wants_ it.

“Fine,” she sighs. “What’re you going to name it?”

Wynonna pulls back a little, putting some space between them. “Names are supposed to be important, right? Waverly is always bitching at me that names _mean_ something, and I can’t just call that stupid stray cat _anything_.”

“What does ‘Wynonna’ mean?”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “First-born daughter.” She pauses, her eyes clouded for just a second before she shakes her head and clears them. “Waverly means quaking aspen tree meadow, before you ask.”

“Why would I ask that?” Nicole pulls back a little. “ _Quaking aspen tree meadow_?”

Wynonna shrugs. “Anyway, since it has to _mean_ something, I’m going to give it a name it will someday live up to.”

Nicole sighs when Wynonna lets the pause stretch between them. “What name?”

Wynonna leans in close, licks her lips, and smiles. “ _Pussy Wagon_.”

Doc climbs up into the truck, grabbing Wynonna around the waist and dipping her down into a kiss. Wynonna laughs and pulls him back down, Fish and Levi and the rest of the Blue Devils crowding around the truck, cheering.

“Wy- _Wynonna_ ,” Nicole tries to shout over the crowd. “I’m not naming it that!”

Wynonna loops her arm around Doc’s neck as he hands her a can of Molson from the cooler, winking at her one more time. “A bet is a bet, Haught. Better start mowing those lawns. Can’t name a car if you don’t have one.”

For a moment, Nicole thinks about ignoring Waverly’s instruction to keep Wynonna out of trouble, and to let her get swept up in the crowd. She’d be fine. She can handle herself. The Revenants are slowly slinking out of the Triangle, back to their side of town. But then she pictures the look on Waverly’s face and she sighs.

The next time Wynonna grabs a beer, Nicole trades her for the car keys she has in her pocket, the ones that belong to Mercedes’s Imperial. She makes herself comfortable on the top of the cab of Fish’s truck, kicking her feet lightly against the back cab window, daydreaming about when she can afford a car.

 

-

It’s dark by the time Nicole convinces Mercedes to let her drive her home. She spends the whole ride hunched forward over the steering wheel, one hand gripping the leather while the other edges Mercedes back every time she tries to slide closer.

“You’re cute for a kid,” Mercedes says into her ear, her words loose and slurred. “You know my brother, right?”

Nicole clenches her teeth together at the thought of Tucker Gardner.

“He’s such a _fugly_ kid, you know?” Mercedes slips her hand onto Nicole’s thigh. “But I don’t think it’s his face? I think it’s this,” she says as she walks her fingertips across Nicole’s stomach, dipping beneath where her jacket hangs open.

Nicole inhales sharply and carefully pulls Mercedes’ hand free. “His stomach?”

“No, Loverboy. His _heart_.”

It takes more effort than she wants to admit to guide a slightly-wasted, slightly-high Mercedes up the front steps, through the front hall, and into the house. She ducks out before Mercedes can kiss her again, walking the few streets over to Homestead.

To Waverly.

Nicole lets herself in and peels her jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack by the door. She slips off her boots, tucking the laces inside before she slides them next to the Waverly’s Reeboks.

She pauses at the mirror in the hallway before she goes into the living room, checking the sleeves of her white shirt. There’s a large wrinkle in the center of her shirt where Mercedes had twisted her fingers into the fabric, and a dark stain smudged around the collar - probably from Fish after he popped the hood on his truck and checked his oil filter. She rubs at it uselessly and then wipes her hands on her jeans. She swears under her breath when she realizes she grabbed a sock with a hole in it.

It’s not until she’s recuffing her jeans for the second time that she stops and shakes her head. She’s not sure what she’s even doing this for. It’s just Waverly.

_Just Waverly_ , she thinks. She looks in the mirror again and vows to start leaving some extra shirts at the McCready house.

The living room is dark except for the television and a single lamp by the couch. Nicole’s eyes take a minute to adjust to the darkness, an old episode of _The Friendly Giant_ playing on the screen. There’s a lump on the couch that looks to be the same size as Waverly.

Nicole smiles.

“I thought you forgot,” Waverly mumbles from under her pile of blankets.   

Nicole peels off one blanket, exposing Waverly’s eyes and nose.

Waverly hisses at the light coming from the end table. “Nicole,” she whines.

Nicole grins widely. “ _Nicole_ ,” she mocks, flopping down onto the couch. She stretches her legs out and across Waverly, sliding one arm under her head as she leans back on the arm. “I would never forget,” she says. She feels her face flush; that was too honest.

Waverly wrestles an arm out from her mountain of blankets and pushes half-heartedly at Nicole’s feet. When they don’t budge, she slips her fingers into the cuff of Nicole’s jeans, tugging at the rolls until they loosen. She pulls the fabric down and over Nicole’s sock, hiding her exposed big toe.

Nicole bites back the whimper building in her throat. “I just-” She sighs and sits up, yanking her pant leg back up and rolling the denim. She huffs. It doesn’t look _right_ anymore.

Waverly smiles sweetly at her, patting her on the knee. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Nicole grumbles.

Waverly hooks her fingers back into the cuff and leaves them there, her thumb rubbing idly against Nicole’s skin, right where her jeans end and her sock begins. “How was the race?”

Nicole leans back down, feeling her stomach rolling. Waverly’s thumb is blanket-warm and she scratches softly at Nicole’s ankle bone. “Doc won.”

“Of course he did.”

“And he punched Jonas Adamson in the face,” Nicole continues.

Waverly snorts. “He probably deserved it.”

Nicole bites at her bottom lip. She hums thoughtfully. “Hetty Tate still has a crush on Nathan.”

Waverly rolls her eyes.

“Mercedes kissed me.”

Waverly’s fingernail bites into Nicole’s skin.

Nicole hisses and jerks her leg back. Waverly’s fingers get stuck in her jeans and Nicole stops moving, sitting up to rub at her ankle instead. “What the hell, Waves?”

Waverly uncurls her fingers and slides her hand back under the blanket. “Sorry,” she mumbles. She twists, leaning back against the other arm of the couch, her legs curled up under her. “I thought you said you _weren’t_ into her?”

Nicole pulls her legs in, resting her chin on her knees. “I’m not.”

“But she’s into you.”

Nicole frowns. “No? I think she was just excited. About the race,” she adds quickly. She wishes she could go back ten seconds and say _Beth Gardner is dating Jonas_ instead.

Waverly arches an eyebrow at her. “Sure,” she says slowly.

“Waverly,” Nicole starts.

“Don’t _Waverly_ me. How come you never tell me when you like someone?” Waverly pulls her arms from her blanket and crosses them over her chest.

Nicole sighs. “What do you mean? I always-”

“ _Shae_ ,” Waverly says, her mouth set in a thin line.

Nicole feels her chest tighten. “That was… _different_.”

Waverly’s eyes narrow. “Different _how_?”

Nicole looks away, picks at a loose thread on the couch, and shrugs. Shae was different in _all_ the ways; that was the problem.

“I mean, if you like her,” Waverly continues. “Just tell me so, like, I’m not the last to know. I just want to be in the mix.” She pulls her shoulders in and shrugs back until the blanket is higher, up around her ears.

Nicole frowns. Waverly is burrowing further into her blanket, further away from her. She leans forward and pulls at Waverly’s blanket, tugging it down for every inch Waverly tries to pull it up.

“Stop,” Waverly grumbles.

Nicole keeps pulling, using both hands and tightening her grip in the soft fabric. Waverly’s jaw clenches and her arms flex as she tries to wrestles the blanket back from Nicole.

“ _Nicole_ ,” Waverly hisses. “Let. _Go_.”

Nicole lets go and Waverly falls back, her shoulders hitting the arm of the couch. “Sorry.” She reaches for Waverly, wrapping her fingers around Waverly’s elbow and pulling her back up. “I don’t like her.”

Waverly huffs, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “It’s _fine_.”

“I don’t,” Nicole insists. “The next time I like someone, you’ll be the first to know. Cool?”

Waverly stares at her for a long moment. “Swear it,” she says finally.

Nicole instantly sticks out her pinky. “I swear on my Starship cassette.”

Waverly’s hand hovers in the air. “Which cassette.”

“ _Knee Deep in the Hoopla._ ”

“You love that one,” Waverly says softly.

“I’m swearing on it.” Nicole sticks her hand further out, her pinky nearly catching Waverly in the chin.

Waverly slowly uncurls her pinky and hooks it loosely around Nicole’s. It’s hot where their skin meets and Nicole feels a rush of warmth slide down her hand, through her arm, and into her chest.

“You swear to tell me next time you have a crush,” Waverly says.

“I swear to tell you the next time I have a crush,” Nicole repeats, biting on the inside of her cheek. _The next time,_ she thinks. _When it’s not you_.

Waverly’s finger tightens around hers for a moment before she sighs and gives Nicole a soft smile. “Okay.”

Nicole dips her head, meeting Waverly’s eye. “Okay?”

Waverly rolls her eyes and pushes at Nicole’s hand. “Okay,” she repeats. “Did you still want to watch _Check it Out!_ with me?”

Nicole narrows her eyes. “Are you going to share any of those blankets with me?”

Waverly slides off the couch and pushes the power button on the VCR. She sets the television up on the right channel and grabs the VCR remote before climbing back onto the couch. She holds out a corner of the blanket for Nicole. “You can have this much of the blanket.”

Nicole rolls her eyes and grabs the corner, pulling it into her lap. She keeps tugging for more of the blanket. Waverly slides over and presses against her side. Nicole tucks the blanket tightly around them, watching the blue screen flicker a minute before there’s a flash of Wynonna at a piano in black and white Mary Jane shoes. Waverly’s head leans against her shoulder. Nicole takes short, shallow breaths and tries to focus as Wynonna fades into the opening credits for _Check it Out!_

Waverly laughs prettily in her ear and Nicole knows it’ll never _not_ be Waverly.

 

-

(artwork for this oneshot by flannel!anon)


End file.
